His Return
by xClove
Summary: ONE SHOT. Prim Mellark attends school to find a soldier from the war has come to the school for a visit- Gale Hawthorne.


**A/N: This is a one shot I wrote based on this tumblr post I saw. So, disclaimer: The idea was not mine.**

I walked down the streets of District Twelve, on my way to school. Just another day, so many would think. But something stirred in me. I was anxious to see what the rebellion in which my mother fought was like through someone else's eyes. I didn't tell her that this was happening of course, because when mentioning the fighting, so much appears in those grey eyes of hers, it's obvious she feels something; remorse. Loss. So, yesterday when I found out someone from District Two was coming in for a visit, I didn't dare to let her know this piece of information.

As I waledk into class, my classmates murmured in hushed voices, predicting who would be coming in. Was he well known? How significant was he. Was he, even a he? Or perhaps a she? So many questions were spread across the room.

The whole class went silent as our teacher walked in, the special guest following. He stood there, surveying the class, when his eyes were locked on me. I stared back into the grey eyes, and I was reminded of my mothers, which were the exact same colour. He seemed vaguely familiar. As if I'd seen him in an old photograph. He ruffled his dark hair, and cleared his throat.

As he spoke, his voice quavered with nerves, or perhaps regret. Guilt. He told us everything. The bombings of our district, and spoke as if he experienced it first hand. No, that would be impossible, he was from two, after all.

Then, he got to the most terrible part. How he'd stayed in thirteen, and unknowingly created the bombs in which killed many, and to his dismay, they were children. He looked at me, as if meaning to only tell me, that it wasn't how he intended them to be used. How he didn't mean it, and regrets every single day he spent constructing the bombs. It made me wonder; wonder about the primroses planted along the flowerbed in the front garden of our house, but I dropped the thought immediately.

"Any questions?" The man asked, his eyes still locked on me.

I slowly raised my shaky hand.

He glanced at the teacher, then back at me, "What's your name, miss?"

"Prim...Primrose." I stammered, the words not flowing correctly out of my mouth.

The soldier let out a mangled, quivering sigh, then flashed me a smile, "Prim. What is your question?"

I looked around. All eyes were on me.

"Did...did you know Katniss Everdeen?"

Something flickered across his eyes. Guilt. He lowered his glance abruptly, "Yes. I did know her. In fact, I fought with her. Side by side. Can I ask you something Prim?" I nodded my head at him, and he gave me a slight smile, "My name is Gale Hawthorne. Can you tell your mother I'm sorry?"

I gulped. How did he know I was her daughter? I never mentioned that she was my Mom. I never told him- Gale- my last name, "Tell her, I'm very sorry. And that I had to."

Had to? Had to what? The thoughts befuddled my mind, as the answers to the questions asked were limitless. Could this Gale Hawthorne have known my mother? And how well had he known her?

I walked home with my brother, debating whether to tell Mom. But I promised him. I had to say something. It would've been wrong not to.

When we get home, I notice Mom's hunting jacket slung over the chair in the study, where I usually dump my school bag.

I rushed into the lounge room, where Mom's reading an old book.

"Mom."

She turned to look at me, a welcoming smile painted on her face.

"Hey, sweetie. How was your day?"

I was frozen, taking quick breaths, "That's what I needed to talk to you about. Today, someone came in. He fought in the war. He said his name was Gale Hawthorne." I watched Mom tense her face, a shocked, hurt expression on her face, "He wanted me to tell you something. That he's really sorry. And that...that he had to."

My mother pulled me in for a hug, a single tear dripping down her face. "He's back." Is all she said.


End file.
